


Reckless abandonment and unintentional (intentional) starvation

by unbrokengrae



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Amnesia, Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Cussing, ENDGAME DREAMNOTFOUND, Eating Disorders, Felt like I had to make that clear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, More tags to be added, Ouch, Starvation, Temporary Amnesia, The eating disorder thing is kinda a major plot point ngl, Zombie Apocalypse, i can’t believe I just typed that, idk the comfort is a maybe ngl guys, more character tags to be added - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrokengrae/pseuds/unbrokengrae
Summary: George and Wilbur make it work. They are okay with ignoring their relationship falling apart, because in return they have a contorted feeling of companionship and too much pride and ego to talk to eachother.Zombies probably won’t help the relationship. Right?? Right..?Yeah no. Spoiler alert- they don’t.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 49
Kudos: 54





	1. Wilbur doesn’t understand.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh oh I don’t know what I’m doing—
> 
> I literally have another fic on the go :0
> 
> Tbh I don’t really care because I think it’s a little boring LMAO plus I prefer this concept. I’m planning for this to be fairly long but not ridiculous. Updates will probably be slow I’m really sorry for that. This chapter was originally supposed to be twice as long but I got lazy and ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I’m ngl im very much unsatisfied with how this chapter turned out but story building and character introduction without revealing too much and keeping it semi pleasant to read is fuckin boring. You guys probably don’t even car but me to my own work be like “WhEn dO tHeY sCreW” 
> 
> Also no Dream in this chapter :(( just unconventionally toxic relationship :((
> 
> Ugh anyways read it ig LMAO
> 
> ps; 
> 
> i do not condone shipping of real people, this is purely based off of the characters they portray in media. we all love these guys, please dont be fuckin weird. also this fic deals with heavy topics such as eating disorders- i am not responsible for your triggers, nor am i implying that any of the people featured suffer from any referenced illnesses. please dont be fuckin weird lol

George retched violently, bile burning his throat as he coughed up what little sat in his stomach. His saliva strewn fingers clung to the toilet, clutching it as he hunched over the porcelain bowl. His neck ached with the awkward tilt, and his flushed cheeks were wet with a steady flow of tears.  
Moments later it was over, and he was sat, out of breath against the wall. It wasn’t a regular occurrence- to be sat on the floor of a public toilet cubicle, but it would have to be excused for now as George regained his breath. He stared blankly at the tiled wall, brown eyes settling on every crack and divot they could find in the gray patterns. 

He exited the stall, washing his hands thoroughly with coconut scented soap and splashing some water on his swollen, red face. He rejoined his boyfriend at the dinner table, the quiet, warm ambience of the restaurant a sickening contrast to the cold, unforgiving bathroom. He averted his eyes from the man in front of him, choosing instead to pretend to consult the dessert menu.

“George.” Wilbur’s calm voice drew his eyes up towards the brunet man, who looked uncomfortable more than anything.  
“I thought we were over this.” He said in a hushed tone, leaning forward slightly. His hands were clasped together in front of him on the linen tablecloth. George shrugged, looking away again, this time at a passing waiter. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Wil.” He said, a curt tone edging his voice, folding shut the dessert menu and placing it so gently on the table it might as well have been a bomb waiting to go off. Wilbur sighed quietly and slacked back in his seat. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you didn’t just purge.” He said matter of factly, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow- his tactfulness (or lack thereof) was astounding. George scowled at his hands folded in his lap, and didnt answer- choosing instead to scratch at the skin on the back of his already reddened knuckles. 

“Come on. You said you were improving.” 

There was a pregnant pause.

“Well I’m obviously not so drop it-“ George snapped, standing up. “-it’s none of your business anyway!” Disappointment crossed Wilbur’s face for a moment, but George chose to ignore it as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and stormed out of the high class restaurant. The frigid night air hit his face like a brick wall, cooling his reddened cheeks and soothing the soreness of his throat a little. The sky was a dark inky blue, but the wide street was lit with yellow light streaming from various other expensive restaurant windows. 

He stalked his way down the street, wound up in his trivial little emotions. Perhaps not five minutes later, Wilbur was there, a firm hand on his shoulder silently commanding him to stop. He didn’t look up at the taller male, instead wore a scowl that the gods would envy- except of course theirs was the foreshadowing of perilous wrath- his perhaps nothing more than the temptation to kick something over. 

“Come on.” Wilbur murmured, taking the shorter mans chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his face upwards slightly. “Come back to my flat, Georgie. we can talk things through or if you would rather not, we can just watch a film or something.” George appeared to hesitate, thoughts clear in his pretty brown eyes as to wether he should agree, or instead simply stamp on the man’s foot and run screaming bloody murder. as much as that would have been the more humorous option, he nodded his head after a moment of hesitance. 

The pair linked hands and strolled their way back to Wilbur’s small flat. they were on the outside of the city, close enough that they had easy access to launderers, grocers and anything they may want, but far enough from the centre that everything was cheap and simple. George lived further in, but most nights he couldn’t stand to be alone and instead turned up on Wilbur’s doorstep in the middle of the night. the two had a comfortable routine going for them. George handled the housework- the living space (cramped as it was) was always spotless, and he also did the washing rounds and handled the shopping. Wilbur did his fair share- he worked and cooked. George didn’t understand how the man had juggled everything else with his busy full time job calling for his attention even when he wasnt on call. Wilbur worked as a neurosurgeon at the nearest hospital. it put strain on their relationship at the worst of times. it seemed as if when george needed him the most he was unavailable. 

Not always physically unavailable. Wilbur just couldn’t seem to understand the issues George faced in his everyday life. Wilbur just couldn’t understand why George felt the need to starve himself until he passed out, or throw up every ounce of food he allowed himself. Wilbur just couldn’t understand.

But it was okay. They were dysfunctional but they worked as a team, and honestly, George was okay with ignoring their detioriating relationship if it meant he had a roof over his head and arms around him as he fell asleep. 

And thats where they were now. Wilbur snoring quietly behind wide-awake George as the two entangled limbs. George was unsatisfied. Everything was so boring, so grey. They had returned home, watched a shitty movie, fucked on the couch and then headed to bed. George was exhausted of the same daily cycle, going through the same motions as he dragged himself through each identical day. He was waiting.

Waiting for something interesting. 

Which is exactly what he got. 

Waking up in the morning to hear someone banging at you door was not ideal. The discovery that that someone was in fact a member of the living dead was less ideal. The discovery that they were not only in your apartment building, but everywhere was probably the least ideal. In fact, they were lucky it was Wilbur who answered the door, because his quick reflexes saw him kicking the thing out of the doorway and slamming and locking the door. 

“George!” he said, rousing his boyfriend, frantically waking him up as he paced the room. Wilbur Soot was a calm, cool, collected individual, a person who definitely does not at all freak out in the face of danger, not at all what he was doing at that very moment.  
George blinked at him cluelessly, a cloud of annoyance gathering in his mind at being awoken at the crack of dawn. 

“What the fuck- do you know what time it is?” George blinked his blurry eyes in confusion, squinting up at the man’s pacing. 

“Eho cares what time it is-“ Wilbur snapped, pausing his pacing as he glared in the sleepy man’s direction. “-i just saw a fucking zombie George.. this has to be a joke, this has to be a joke…” the brunet trailed off. George stared at him dumbly from where he sat on the bed, arms propping him up on the white sheets. 

“Bullshit.” George muttered with an eyeroll, flopping back down into the recesses of the covers with the intent of going back to sleep- only to be roused again by Wilbur shaking him vigorously. 

A bright screen was shoved in front of his eyes, displaying a flashing headline : ‘HORSE SICKNESS MUTATES INTO A BRAIN ROTTING DISEASE TRANSMITTABLE TO HUMANS’ 

George’s eyes widened. the feeling that he was about to throw up rose in his throat and he almost laughed at the irony of throwing up on an empty stomach. “Surely its a joke..” he mumbled, a wry smile forming on his lips in denial. 

Wilbur shook his head quickly, scrolling down to the article and beginning to read. 

“BREAKING NEWS: a new strain of the virus previously known as equus encephalitis, has emerged as transmittable to humans and is now reaching death tolls in the 1000s, having started spreading from Avon Grove, Pennsylvania and already reached New york overnight. it is spread via direct contact between bodily fluids of an healthy person and an infected person, and causes the person to become overly aggressive, exhibiting cannibalistic urges and various symptoms such as a fever, vomiting and even seizures as their brain slowly inflates to the point where they are essentially braindead and unable to control instinctual desires. there is so far no cure...” Wilbur trails off, his phone slipping out of his hand onto the floor. 

George shivered a little. “This isn’t happening..” he mumbled, staring blankly at Wilbur. 

A noise sounds from both George and Wilbur’s phones. An alarm of sorts, just a vague beeping noise. the screen flashed yellow with the message ‘national wireless emergency alert system. this is not a drill. please stay inside until further notice.’

So they did. 

George felt like he was going insane. it was the same cycle, but even worse. now, he didnt even get moments of privacy when Wilbur would go to work. 

On the second day he started cleaning, as if it would make everything okay all of a sudden. 

George took a deep breath as he dried off that particular dish for the third time in a row, just as he had done with the other 10 dishes and the ones inside the cupboard and the ones before that.  
  
The third day he disinfected the entire apartment, one, two and three times and then one last time. He cleaned the door frame and the door knob meticulously, he forced Wilbur to strip down to his boxers before coming inside the clean parts of the apartment, sent him directly into the shower and didn’t allow him to leave it before he himself made sure he was scrubbing properly. He picked up the clothes using his 4th pair of plastic gloves of the day and put them inside the washing machine. And when it was done he disinfected the machine itself.   
  
Wilbur grew frustrated, but he waited patiently, careful not to touch anything, giving George all the space he needed and not getting in the way because he knew George needed to do this before he could give himself a chance to feel safe, that was ok, they had time.  
  
After making sure the apartment was as clean as anything was gonna get, he took off his clothes, placed them inside a bag that he meant to throw away and stepped inside the shower himself and scrubbed and rubbed and rubbed until his arms were bleeding and even then he thought, I’m dirty , and scrubbed again.   
“10 minutes,” he heard a firm voice and he sighed, he couldn’t argue, it was part of their agreement.   
  
10 more minutes, no less than that, George was out of the shower and 4 hours later he was finally content with the apartment. Then he placed the bag outside the door for the trash service- for closure- to pick up and closed the door. He sealed it with industrial duct tape, from the top to the bottom, dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.

Wilbur and George stayed inside. They would get up, do nothing for a day, go to sleep and then repeat it all the next day. They had another message come through around a week in, and George had almost cried out of relief, but it was only an alert to let them know that non-essential power was being shut off- their hot water had already turned off a day ago. Meaning they were left in the dark, with only the fridge freezer staying on. It was worse than before.

George clinged to anything that made him feel sane. Wether it was reading every single thing in the house- from cookbooks to perfume bottles- or the hollow feeling of hunger that settled in his chest, wrists growing bonier as the days flew by. It wasnt even by choice anymore. They were running out of food, and whilst, sure, George could admit he was happy in some sick twisted way with the absence of food, they were beginning to starve. 

On the fifteenth day, they ran out of food completely. There was nothing they could eat, aside from a single can of baked beans, that George wouldn’t shove down his throat if it was the last thing on earth (which it very much could be). 

Wilbur woke with the growling of his empty stomach. His arm was draped over the other man’s waist, they slept facing eachother, George nestled into Wilbur’s chest. 

He sighed as he untangled himself from the other, sitting up in the tangled pile of sheets. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, switching it on to check for messages from loved ones, friends, the government- anyone. They hadn’t received anything in a while, and Wilbur was beginning to grow worried about the welfare of his family. 

Wilbur’s family lived in england, and while they were supportive of him going on holiday to new york with his boyfriend, they weren’t particularly glad to see him settle there permanently- despite his top notch residency at the hospital. He hadn’t heard anything from them since before everything started happening at once, but he assumed they were okay. 

He was wrong, but we’ll get to that later.

Wilbur switched his phone off again, placing it on his pillow. He was limiting his usage to checking for updates, as non-essential power being turned off meant they couldnt charge their phones, and Wilbur was not looking forward to the day when it ran out of battery. 

His stomach rumbled again and he looked over at George, who was still sleeping, a peaceful expression set in place of a scowl on his gaunt features. George had been small to begin with, but now he was veering on dangerously thin. Its not like Wilbur hadn’t noticed the way he would sway for a second when he stood up too quick, or the obsessive action of curling his fingers around his wrist, his arm his thigh. 

Wilbur would help him, he really would, if only he knew how. 

As his stomach growled again, he shuddered out of his rushing thoughts. He tapped his fingers slowly on the bedside table, noticing the thin layer of dust that had begun to settle- it wasn’t like George to leave dusting for so long that trails could be formed as Wilbur graced his calloused fingertips along the oak wood. 

Wilbur stood up, dressed, placed a kiss on George’s forehead, and left the apartment Via the fire escape window, which he locked from the outside. 

He didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time he saw George for a while.


	2. dream may not be a doctor, but he knows a sick kid when he sees one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary? who's she, never heard of her :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS HAPPY VALENTINES DAY OMG
> 
> i had such a great day today!! i got a couple gifts from people, including a fuckin tiara omfg- i- its so hot and i feel like a princess
> 
> bitches be wildin, today has been the first good day in a while :D 
> 
> anyways, i thought i would try get this chapter out early, even if it was a pain in the ass to write, and its not even that long LMAO 
> 
> i really hope you like it

George awoke when the sun hit his face, streaming through the shutters of their blinds. He frowned, turning over to cuddle back into Wilbur’s side and go to sleep. When his arms found nothing but stale air and a cold mattress, he huffed, sitting up rigidly straight. 

He stretched his arms until his shoulders clicked, scowling at the empty space beside him. His sour mood was partially due to hunger pangs more severe than he was used to, and partially due to the fucking situation he was in. Honestly, he had any fucking right to be pissed. His customary short temper had only gotten shorter with the isolated conditions, and he felt the threads of sanity beginning to snap under his bony grip. It was all he had not to yell at Wilbur everyday (scratch that, he most certainly yelled at Wilbur everyday, who was he kidding?) 

George swung his bare legs over the side of the bed and lowered onto his feet, standing up slowly in an effort to avoid the dark patches in his vision and the invisible force begging to push him over. His forefinger rested between his lips- teeth scraping at the nail absently. 

He padded quietly into the open plan living room-kitchen. His gaze graced the room slowly. He hadn’t decorated- and to put it politely, the living space wasn’t his cup of tea. The walls were a dark olive green (not that George could even see it- he just assumed Wilbur had a terrible love for clashing colors) and the furniture was a dark wood- similar to that in the bedroom- and the cream couch matched the cream rug and the cream curtains and god George hated cream. The kitchen cabinets matched in color and the tiles on the walls were an uncomfortable shade of grey. It was like suburban white mom meets... well suburban white mom. 

George frowned in confusion. No, not because of the questionable decorations, because a certain lanky brunette was no where to be seen. George huffed an exaggerated sigh, falling rather stiffly onto the pleather sofa, dislodging cushions of various textures from where they sat into a pile on the floor. 

He wondered if Wilbur was taking a shit. 

It was honestly the only valid explanation for his absence- their apartment was literally one big room with two smaller rooms connected to it. It was a crude thought, but George couldn’t bring himself to care as his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted to sleep.

The days passed like hours. 

At first he had been confused as to why Wilbur hadn’t yet emerged from their bathroom by the time the sun was beginning to dip in the horizon. He was rather astonished when he opened the door to said bathroom and found no one.

His confusion quickly turned into anger as he realised what Wilbur had done. Wilbur had abandoned him, left him completely alone without so much as a goodbye. George felt sick. he threw up twice that day, his intense rage manifesting as nausea, forcing him to part with nothing but stomach acid and whatever love he held for the other male.

His anger didn’t fade, but it fledged itself with plenty of other thoughts and feelings. 

The apartment seemed to grow smaller and hotter the longer he was there. the walls shrunk and turned on him, whispering to each other mocking words as George desperately tried to get out. The windows didn’t open, the fire escape was locked from the outside and George cursed Wilbur out for the hundredth time when he remembered how he had barricaded the door as a precaution when everything has first started- Wilbur had pushed a cabinet against it, knowing it would keep whatever was outside out, not realising George wasn’t strong enough to move it (especially not when he was hysterical from weeks of severe malnutrition). 

George spent hours trying to escape- but even if he did break a window, he was fourteen stories up, which meant jumping wasn’t an option at all. 

Well, jumping was an option but that was worse case scenario. 

George retreated to his bed, defeated. He didn’t leave the tangled white sheets for anything but using the bathroom, sleeping as much as he could to avoid the hunger pains that had grown more severe and constant in hardly any time at all. After some time- he wasn’t sure how long- he stopped leaving the bed at all. Every time he stood up he collapsed as his legs had grown too weak to hold himself up, and he was overcome but dizziness and nausea almost all the time he wasn’t sleeping. His heart faltered slightly every few beats, and it was too slow for his liking, but honestly, if it meant he could get out of the god forsaken apartment, he would take death by his hand and go willingly. He knew death was near when he could hardly move at all, and all he could do was sleep and stare at the ceiling. 

Dream didn’t have any talent for lock picking.

At least he didn’t think so, so he was pleasantly surprised when the sturdy door swung open without much resistance, the lock clicking quietly around the carelessly inserted hair pin. 

His nose was assaulted by the scent of artificial vanilla and bleach as he pushed past the door into a living room, the surfaces dusty and untouched. He frowned looking around, eyes darting from feature to feature- a vase here, a lamp there. He paused for a second to look at a collection of photographs on one wall, two brunet boys smiled back at him. Dream wondered where they were at that moment. 

Dream was confused. 

He had come to sometime in the afternoon with the sun glaring down on him outside a gas station, a wound in his forehead that was bleeding profusely, and absolutely no memory of how he had got there, why he was all alone, anything. He had wandered around aimlessly, hoping to find someone who would tell him the time, perhaps spare him some pity and give him directions. His confusion turned into utter bewilderment when he came across absolutely no one on the deserted streets. The city was like a ghost town, empty of life. 

The worst part was that his mind felt foggy, no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn’t recall anything about recent events. In fact, the last thing he could remember was leaving his parent’s house in Florida to head off to college. 

He found himself knocking on doors in local apartment buildings, hoping someone would be kind enough to help him out. His luck seemed to have run dry however, as no one came to his aid, and he resorted to breaking and entering one of the seemingly empty apartments. Its not like Dream was the kind of person to trespass, but these weren’t exactly normal circumstances so he told himself it was excusable- especially with this strange amnesia he was experiencing. 

He made his way across the wooden floor of the room, taking in his surroundings as he went. There was hardly anything in the room that was notably strange, except a cabinet in front of the main entrance, which dream frowned at, wondering why anyone would barricade themselves in somewhere like this. He observed that the kitchen cabinets were empty, all open wide like sad mouths that yawned at him. he was thankful for the backpack he had woken up with, which seemed to be well prepared for almost anything. he had found inside it a few questionable items (namely a rope, a walkie talkie that he was rather afraid to switch on, and- holy shit is that a fucking knife?!) but more importantly, he found it to be well stocked with non-perishable foods, like canned soup and some rather dodgy processed snacks. 

As Dream continued his exploration of his temporary living space, he pushed through into a small bathroom. the counter was incredibly neat, and covered in various cleansers, moisturisers, oils and various other sanitary items. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the excess of products, but nonetheless picked up a blue bottle of expensive looking men's perfume and sprayed a generous amount over his upper body. He opened up the cupboard- not after flinching at the sight of the wound on his forehead which was breaching his hairline in a gash of dried blood- and perused the items within. Customarily, it held dental care and various household painkillers- even an anti-anxiety perscription- but nothing interesting. 

He was interrupted from his nosing rather suddenly, when he heard a meek sound come from the room next door. 

"Wilbur?"

Dream froze on the spot. The apartment had looked completely vacant when he had looked around- there was practically an inch of dust on some of the surfaces, and no one in their right mind would live in a place with no food or even power (which Dream had noticed when he tried to switch on the bathroom light). However, the voice was clearly distinguishable, if quiet. 

"Wilbur, is that you?" 

Dream tip-toed out of the bathroom slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible as he crept towards the only room he had yet to explore. He was met by the smell of sick, and the sight of an emaciated boy. The boy's hollowed cheeks cast shadows on his face, and his body looked as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. His brown eyes were dark and drawn, as if he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him as he shivered slightly, his skeletal body racked by harsh shaking. 

"Please help me,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, trying to justify dream breaking and entering :0   
> sorry it was so short this time, i was just desperate to update this so i did whatever i could, even if its not much and its a bit shit ngl. expect an update for my other fic tomorrow, its a long one i promise!!
> 
> anyways, i hope you liked it!! please give me feedback in the comments, and tell me how your valentines day was!! i really wanna hear about it, it would be so cool!! 
> 
> remember to drink water babes


	3. Companionship is not a synonym for Friendship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream nurses George back to some form of health in the hopes that he will provide answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hola, sorry for the semi-radio silence i've been proving you with recently. 
> 
> im kinda sick at the moment but we move
> 
> heres another chapter of this. its not much, but its something so here, take your crumbs. the storyline for this is probably going to move slower than my other fic, but my attention is more focused on that one because i have a more solid plan. 
> 
> sorry if this authors note lacks the usual energy, im soooo tired.
> 
> enjoy :)

Dream stood frozen in the doorway. 

The scene would have been uncomfortable to outside eyes. A boy who lost everything and a boy who had nothing to lose, looking at each other as if either could answer the questions they held. 

Dream could feel his gut twist, his mind arguing with itself as he contemplated his options. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help the boy, he was just hesitant to involve himself with this person he hardly knew- whose house he had recently broken into even. It felt sinful to even be stood there, his options so tight he hardly had any. 

Minutes passed before either of them moved, and even then, the first of them to move was the brunet, the effort to stay awake obviously too much for the frail boy as his brown eyes rolled back and he passed out. Dream was hesitant to come closer, afraid that if the boy woke he would lash out, but he reasoned with himself that the other seemed too weak to even sit up, let alone hurt him- and he seemed be delirious to some extent if calling dream ‘Wilbur’ was any indication. 

Dream sat down on the edge of the bed, awkwardly balancing himself as far away from the comatose boy next to him. He reached out and touched the other’s glistening forehead with the back of his hand, and pulled away after feeling the heat radiating from it.

“A fever..” he said aloud, immediately standing up and walking to the kitchen. He had taken a flannel from the bathroom sink earlier, and as he ran it under the cold tap, he bit his lip, unsure of what he was even doing. He squeezed out the excess water and hurried back to the other, laying it gently across his forehead in the way that he assumed was correct. 

Dream found himself replacing the towel numerous times over the following hours, feeling the boy’s cheeks and forehead every so often as he waited out the fever. He knew people who were underweight were more susceptible to sickness, and the fact that this boy was essentially starved to death meant it was only natural that he would be more vulnerable to a fever, but even still Dream was rather afraid of the boy under his sudden care. He would attempt to pour some water in the others mouth- small amounts so as not to choke him- trying to get him to drink a little. The boy shook slightly in his sleep, obviously having some feverish nightmare as he whimpered quietly. Every so often, the same name would slip out of his mouth, that ‘Wilbur’ again. Dream ignored it. 

He assumed ‘Wilbur’ was the other in the photos. This boy was obviously one of them, more healthy when any were taken of course, but still stick thin and pale. Dream wondered briefly who Wilbur was, and when he would be back, but he didn’t dwell on it. He had ruled out asking himself questions when he realised it wasn’t doing any good to anyone. 

It was hours after the sun had set that the boy’s fever broke and Dream felt his temperature begin to fall. He could have cried out of relief, he had almost believed for a moment that he was going to be caught by this Wilbur guy with his dead friend’s corpse. 

The boy didn’t wake up for a while. Dream kept himself occupied, he wandered around the apartment a few more times, noticing details he hadn’t noticed before. Like a notebook stashed away in a coffee table full of meaningless strings of numbers, page after page covered in the same neat scrawl, just digits on digits, hundreds per page. Or a vase with pretty blue detailing on the outside, and a gorgeous golden sheen to it, filled to the brim with shells and sand. He continued using the same perfume that he had found on the first day, finding the scent very pleasant in comparison to the others available on the counter. 

He had also cleansed his wound as much as possible, dabbing at it gently with a wet cloth as much as he dared. He had even tried to clean it with rubbing alcohol, tracing the outside with a soaked cotton swab, but after almost blacking out from the pain, he had to stop, and instead resorted to praying infraction stayed away, not bothering to bandage the cut in the off chance he did it wrong. 

He ate some of the food in his bag- there seemed to be a lot there- and he drank out of the kitchen tap. He was sat beside the sick boy reading a book from the shelf in the lounge when the brunet’s eyes fluttered open. 

Panic flooded the other’s expression, and his breathing quicken- hoarse gasps in quick succession. 

“Hey,” Dream whispered quietly, reaching out to remove the cloth from the other’s forehead, only to give up when the other jerked away as much as his feeble body would allow.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” Dream added, enunciating his words clearly. He had his arms raised in submission, trying to make it clear that he meant absolutely no harm. 

“You- you smell like Him,” The brunette stuttered, his wild eyes darting around the room without pause. 

“Wilbur?” Dream asked after a moment of the two looking at each other. The other nodded as tears welled up in his eyes. Dream hummed. “You said his name a lot in your sleep.” 

He reached into his backpack slowly, making his movements obvious and careful. He took out an open packet of dry fruit, holding out a slice of apple to the other. 

“Come on. Eat up, you’re dying.” 

The boy accepted it hesitantly, his brown eyes wide and afraid and never leaving Dream’s face as he nibbled slowly on the dried fruit. He eventually looked away as he wolfed down the entire packet, realising just how hungry he was. 

“Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick, and we can’t have that.” Dream said, placing a hand on the boy’s wrist and silently celebrating when he didn’t flinch away. 

“Who are you anyway?” The other said, his British accent clear in the way he spoke. He took the cup of water that was sitting on the bedside table and drank the whole thing in seconds, shivering slightly as he set it back down. He had managed to sit himself up against the headboard, but even that had taken far more effort than it was worth. 

“You can call me Dream. If I’m honest, I have no idea what’s going on. I hoped you could tell me as you’re the first person I’ve seen in days.” He explains briefly, laughing awkwardly for a moment. 

“Dream,” the other paused. “I like that name.” He added after a moment, grinning a little at the other. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dream-“ he put emphasis on his name, and Dream would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way the boy said it- “I haven’t exactly been keeping track of what’s going on either.” 

Dream raised an eyebrow, unable to help the short burst of laughter that escaped his lips. 

“Trust me, I certainly noticed. You’ve been blacked out with a fever for the last day or so, burning through wet cloths like they aren’t wet at all.” He said. The boy nodded slightly. 

“Thanks for looking after me. What happened to your head,” He asked, reaching out to point at the cut. 

“Dude honestly, I have no idea.” Dream admitted, accentuating the phrase with a shrug. 

“Seriously? What’s the last thing you remember?” The other asked, looking rather shocked at the idea of Dream not remembering how he got such a wound. 

Dream shrugged again. “Nothing from the last few weeks at least.” The other’s jaw dropped and he shook his head a little.

“We’re in the middle of like.. a zombie apocalypse,” The brunet said slowly, shivering again as he said it as if it was the first time admitting it aloud. It was Dream’s turn to be shocked. 

“What?” He asked simply, green eyes meeting brown again. 

“Yeah.” No real answer followed as the brunet shivered again. Dream placed another blanket around the other’s shoulders as he resumed his book, the reality of the situation completely numbed to him for a brief moment of respite as his mind turned it over. Zombie apocalypse? Zombie apocalypse. He had so many questions, too many questions for the other while he was in this state. So he decided to wait. 

Days passed. The boy eventually revealed his name was George, and he had been in the apartment for almost three weeks- the last without food. His boyfriend Wilbur had left without explanation not long ago, and locked him in wether intentionally or not was debatable. As George grew stronger with each passing day- sleeping less and eating more- Dream asked more and more questions. George told him all he knew- which wasn’t much granted- but it was enough for Dream to understand the weight of the situation outside. 

The two slept in separate rooms- Dream on the settee and George in his bed, but more often than not, either one awoke and sought out company. The two grew closer- mistrust high but not high enough not to talk like friends. They would reminisce on their childhoods, George’s Brighton upbringing contrasting Dream’s Florida background. The day that George had enough strength to change his clothes and take a walk around the apartment was the day he told Dream about Wilbur. 

“He’s really lovely.” George admitted. The two were laying on the sofas in the lounge in comfortable silence. Dream had been humming an unrecognizable tune, but he stopped as soon as George began to speak. “Wilbur I mean.” 

“Yeah?” Dream asked, trying to encourage the other to talk. Dream had become accustomed to George only speaking when asked questions, or when asking questions. 

“Yeah.” He paused. “He’s a doctor. A damn good one at that. A neurosurgeon to be exact. Stupid clever bastard.” Dream was admittedly surprised to hear that he was so advanced in medical training, but stayed silent, letting the other speak. 

“He was a shit boyfriend,” George muttered after realising Dream wouldn’t reply. “Not on purpose, idiot probably didn’t even realise. Didn’t get it.” 

Dream nodded, even though he knew the other wasn’t looking. “Didn’t get what?” 

“It.” No more explanation was offered, and Dream didn’t want to ask. They fell back into their comfortable silence, and Dream even dropped off to sleep after a moment went by. 

When he woke up, George was stood beside the window, seemingly looking down. 

“Anything there?” Dream called out, making the other jump at the sudden noise. The brunet shook his head as he wandered back over to the couches. 

“You know, at the beginning of this whole thing, this place was infested with those zombie things. Trying to break in, banging at the door. Now they’re no where to be seen. Weird.” 

“I didn’t see any the entire time i was out. And thats after i woke up from being knocked out on the street.” Dream stood up and shuffled over towards the window himself, pressing one hand flat against the glass. George joined him seconds later, and the two watched the deserted road without words. 

Even as they watched two dark figures turn the corner, they didnt say anything. The only indication they had both seen it was the intense grip they had on each other’s hands. It was two boys, presumably human with the speed and decisiveness of their actions, and they skittered down the street without pause. They had matching rucksacks- similar to the one Dream had woken up with- and were holding each other’s hands. The one in front was slightly shorter, and wore a white bandage around his forehead- the only discernible feature from such a distance. The taller had glasses that reflected the moonlight. 

When the two reached the end of the street they turned around, and the taller looked around, surveying the block they were about to leave behind. George could swear, if only for a split second, they locked eyes, but in his emaciated state from a distance he must have looked like a member of the undead, because suddenly, the two were running round the corner faster than before. 

“I feel like I recognised them,” Dream muttered. George didn’t admit that he had forgotten he was there. 

“Small neighbourhood, big city.” George replied, already drawing the curtains. Dream nodded, wandering over to the couch again.

George crossed the room before lingering by the bedroom door. 

“Goodnight Dream.” He said, looking almost like a ghost in the half darkness of the room.

“Goodnight George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it. theres a lot of dialogue, so i did my best at balancing it with description and shit. i feel so ill lmaoo
> 
> i hope all of u guys are okay?? it would b cool if you commented, wether its about the fic, about my writing, or literally about your day, its all appreciated and i try to reply every time!! 
> 
> stay hydrated loves <3


	4. Absent Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream have their first argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn shawty two chapters in two days? I must be spoiling you guys 
> 
> Jkjk, I’ve been watching the walking dead a lot so naturally my mind has been more motivated to write my Zombie themed fic as opposed to my Greek mythology themed fic- Dont worry though!! Updates for that are on their way I promise! 
> 
> Anyways, it might be a few days until the next part of this comes out, so apologies in advance xoxo

“Ow fuck! Be careful!” 

The shriek of pain rang out through the otherwise silent apartment, and immediately after it was shushed firmly. Dream and George were sat on the floor of the bathroom, the brunet balanced precariously on his knees as he attempted to stitch up the hash on Dream’s forehead. As if his stitching wasn’t haphazard and wonky enough, he cussed Dream out without hesitation every time the blond jerked away. 

“Dream! Sit still and shut up!” He snapped after the other twitched again, fidgeting in pain. George knew hardly anything about how to stitch a wound up- only what Wilbur had told him on the occasion he asked. He knew that he was currently dipping a fucking sewing needle in and out of his new friend’s forehead in what would medically be known as A Big Fucking Mess. The wound had stopped bleeding on its own, but even Dream and George realized that it needed stitching to keep out infection, and despite his lack of medical knowledge, George was trying his damn hardest. 

He paused the stitching process in favor of pouring a generous amount of rubbing alcohol on a flannel and dabbing at the edges- met with intense resistance in the form of Dream letting out another shocked cry, tugging his face away- only to be pulled back by a hand gripping his chin. 

“I said stay still,” George muttered, dropping the wet towel into the sink after becoming satisfied with the cleaning. He was mostly dabbing at it for his own conscience, hoping it was actually doing something and he wasn’t just causing his friend pain for the sake of it. 

“I would find it ea-“ Dream was cut off as George resumed his jagged stitching pattern, and he held a hand up to his mouth as a makeshift bite for the moment he got used to the pain. “I meant, I would find it easier to stay still if it didn’t hurt as much,” he muttered, inspecting the shallow teeth marks in his hand. 

George rolled his eyes.

“Not my problem.” He replied, tongue poking out of his mouth in an expression of concentration. “You’re already gonna have a massive scar, mucking up my sutures even more is gonna make it bigger.” 

Dream snorted. 

“What’re you laughing at?” George asked, yanking a little harder than he meant to on the tightened string in his annoyance. 

“Nothing, just think your accent’s dumb.” Dream snickered, reaching out to fiddle with the excess string that had fallen to the floor earlier. George yanked on the string again- not quite so accidentally that time. 

Minutes passed in quiet, the only sound their breathing and the infrequent grunts of pain Dream let escape his lips. The snip of nail scissors sound and around three inches of string fell to the bathroom floor. 

“All done.” George declared, dropping the scissors and the needle onto the counter that had since been cleared of all of Wilbur’s belongings- all but that blue bottle of men’s perfume Dream held onto. Dream stayed kneeling as he watched George exit the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him. 

Dream stood, and inspected the image reflected in the mirror. He looked exhausted, despite the last few days spent doing nothing but making sure George was resting and recovering. The brunet had gone from passing out by so much as sitting upright, to being able to walk around without support in just days. Food and water was doing him good, and Dream assumed so was the company. The only problem they were facing was the slowly depleting stash of food. The supplies had dwindled to a meager portion of what it was before, breakfast, lunch and dinner being necessary but costly to the pair. 

Dream left the bathroom after inspecting the wound enough to suit him. George was sat on the couch flipping through the same magazine he had flipped through at least ten times over. Dream sat beside him, and he leaned onto him slightly, his chin resting comfortably on the shorter’s shoulder. 

“We need to leave.” Dream whispered, stating what was previously better unsaid. George tensed slightly, but relaxed again as Dream moved away and gave him his space. George shook his head, eyes wide. 

“Dream I don’t think it’s a good idea..” he said, closing the magazine and setting it on the side table. “You haven’t even seen a zombie.. and that’s not even considering the people.. it’s a no.” 

“George we’re running out of food,” Dream reasoned, speaking quietly in case being too loud might spook the other in some way. “Besides, we can handle ourselves right? We can’t stay here together.” 

“Dream, I said no. It’s not worth the risk.” George argued. He was mindful of the fact that at some point his boyfriend- or ex boyfriend he supposed- had left the apartment and for some reason never returned. 

“What, just so you can starve to death again?” Dream spat, his temper rising rapidly. He didn’t factor in that George might have an equally excitable temper, as the anger within him rose to match. 

“I never asked for you to save me Dream, you could have let me die!” He snapped, standing abruptly. “I don’t know if you have some stupid hero complex or whatever, but now that you’ve fulfilled it, you can fuck off and leave me alone!” The end of his sentence was punctuated with the slamming of his bedroom door as he stormed off, leaving dream rather shocked and feeling more alone since he had woken up on the street. 

George collapsed onto his bed, clawing at the sheets like a desperate wild animal. Tears fell from his eyes in steady streams, and sobs wracked his body alike the shivers of his fever. He clung to the pillow on the left side of the bed, inhaling roughly in an attempt to reach any part of Wilbur left behind- even if it was just Dream wearing the same perfume on the same pillowcase. He didn’t let go of the sheet until his hands cramped up and his crying wore him out to the point where he could barely move. He wasn’t really angry at Dream- he knew deep down that leaving the apartment was the only rational option. He just couldn’t help but feel an intense surge of irritation at the suggestion they leave behind the only shred of normalcy George had a grip on. 

The room was dark. George didn’t know when it became dark. George didn’t want to know. 

He stood up after a short while of just laying there, the damp patch under his cheek growing uncomfortable and cold. He wiped his eyes once, twice, despite his tears being long dry. 

The bedroom door opened and shut with a small click as George entered the lounge. He felt guilty for shouting at Dream, and then storming off, but he had far too much pride to admit he was sorry first, so he simply sat down on the sofa in silence, observing how the blond was stood by the window again, moonlight illuminating his face as he looked down on the street. 

“Those people ran past again.” Dream said after minutes went by in silence. 

“The same two from last night?” 

“Yeah. They didn’t see me though, didn’t stop this time. Seem to be looking for something.” Dream replied, turning away from the window to fix his judgement on George. 

George nodded. 

“Nothing else,” Dream added after a moment, slowly making his way over to sit down next to the brunet. The air between them felt stale, uncomfortable. 

“What was all that about earlier?” Dream asked, suddenly a little more confident than usual. There was no accusatory edge to his tone, but he needed George to communicate with him.

There was a long pause. 

“I miss Wilbur.” He admitted. Dream hummed quietly. 

“Sure. But why did you get so upset.”

George shrugged. 

“Not an answer George, I need you to talk to me. You understand that we need food right? We need medicine, we need to find help. We can’t just live in here forever and shut out the world.” Dream paused, contemplating his thoughts. “What’s left of it I mean, because if the whole zombie apocalypse thing you said is true, there probably isn’t much there.” 

George balled his hands into tight fists, nails digging into his palms- not out of anger, simply an anxious reflex he had developed in his teenage years. 

“You’re right Dream. I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“No,” Dream frowned. “But I suppose that will have to do if you’re not ready to talk about it.” He added, standing up. 

“Where are you going?” George called after him as he was Dream disappear into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. 

“I’m packing my bag. We leave in the morning.” Came the response moments later. 

George crept into the room on his trail, climbing onto the messy bed. He watched Dream fill the bag up with all the things that were previously scattered across the floor. Rope, a torch, bandages, a lighter, the walkie talki, the blue perfume, a knife. The knife was a delicate piece of equipment, serrated on one edge and smooth on the other, with a silver blade and a blue handle. 

“You must have known about the apocalypse at some point. Otherwise you wouldn’t have all this right?” George asked, reaching out to touch the blade, but pulling his hand back before it reached. Dream nodded. 

“Probably. Doesn’t matter now.” He said dismissively, slotting the blade back where it belonged in his bag. George hummed in agreement. 

“So we leave tomorrow.” 

“Yeah. We leave tomorrow.” 

The night passed like it wasn’t night at all, and the sun’s rays filtering through the window were an unwelcome arrival- in George’s opinion at least. 

He layered on a few t-shirts, packing three hoodies in a bag and deciding at the last minute that wearing Wilbur’s favorite brown jacket was a better choice than his own. He removed a few treasured photos from the walls and wrapped them in a cloth, placing them in between two of his hoodies- George wasn’t the sentimental kind, but that didn’t stop him from packing a few things from around the apartment he wasn’t quite ready to let go of- namely the photographs, a necklace of shells he had made as a child, and his phone despite it not having turned on in weeks. 

Leaving the apartment has a sense of finality to it. Dream stood leaning on the metal railing of the fire escape, watching as George shut the door for the last time, expression sombre. He insisted on writing on the door a short message in a pen reading the date and his initials. George told Dream it was in case Wilbur returned, and Dream humored him without words. 

The street was empty, and the pair walked a few blocks before deciding to enter a drug store that looked slightly better off than the others. The windows were shattered, and there was graffiti everywhere, but there were stores that looked far worse.

The shop was devoid of life, silent and still save for the gentle flapping of a poster pinned on the wall behind the register. The shelves had already been ransacked, stock scattered across the floor. 

George met Dream’s eyes and nodded once as they breached into the darkened room. 

“You get food. I’ll get medicine and whatever else we might need.” George whispered, pointing to the ‘pharmacy’ sign on the other side of the store. 

“Be careful,” Dream said quietly, caressing George’s cheek momentarily in a form of encouragement. George nodded, fingers tightening around the handle of the kitchen knife in his belt. 

In blunt terms, Dream was terrified. Dream had never come face to face with one of these so called Zombies- hell, he didn’t even know if they really existed or if it was simply a delusion George’s hysterical mind had made up in the depths of fever. 

Dream took what was left of the canned food, anything he could get his hands on that was non perishable he took and shoved into his bag. In a moment of weakness, he grabbed a couple candy bars that were more processed chemicals than real food, hoping they hadn’t gone off in the last few weeks. 

A few aisles over, George had already taken a good deal of various prescription antibiotics and bandages, even a few multivitamin packs and various soaps and sanitizers. He looked around briefly before taking a few packs of appetite reducing diet pills and stashing them between his hoodies similarly to the photographs. 

He grinned when he turned the corner and saw books, eagerly snatching a map book off the shelf and shoving it into the bag. He also took a book on basic outdoor survival, unsure on how helpful it would be, but taking it anyway. 

George rounded the next aisle, biting his lip as he did so. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw it. 

It was an elderly man, shuffling down the row with heavy reliance on his left leg. George could only see the back of him, he seemed to be surveying shelves of moldy bread. The brunet inched backwards, creeping over to the next aisle where he knew Dream would be. 

What he didn’t know, was that Dream was just leaving to find him. The blond rounded the corner on the opposite side, and was met with a sight that would disturb him for a very long time. 

The man’s- the zombie’s face was torn from mid-cheek to chin, a sharp rip through both lips that framed teeth blackened by age and dried blood. His eyes were cloudy and his face covered in dirt that settled between deep wrinkles, surrounded by wiry silver hair that sprouted from peeling grey skin. A scratchy groaning sound emanated from it, and the thing began shuffling forward on sight of Dream at an alarming pace. 

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeee sorry about the cliffhanger I couldn’t help myself :D
> 
> Anyways, Please comment, it always makes me smile!! 
> 
> Hydrate or diedrate loves <3


	5. New arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait I feel like this is less than usual?? Like I’m not sure but it doesn’t feel long enough?? Anyways idk why I keep writing one per day, this is happening so fast lol this will probably be the last for a little while idk I’m not sure
> 
> It’s fine, not much happens this chapter lolol

The zombie lurched towards Dream, stumbling over its own mangled ankle- the foot was rolled under itself as the splintered bone jutted out from its calf. It shuffled along the dirty linoleum floor towards Dream, jaw slack as it advanced. 

Dream’s face mirrored George’s- a look of pure shock and fear at the sight. The blond stepped backwards, and it was like the world moved in slow motion. His foot caught on a discarded bag that had fallen from a display, and he fell backwards, landing on his back with all the air pushed out of his chest. 

“Dream!” He heard George scream, before the thing was on top of him, and he was desperately trying to push it off, thankful for his arms being clothed as he covered his face, the thing clawing and snapping its teeth viciously. 

“George-“ Dream yelled, straining as he pushed the thing off of him, and onto the floor on his right. in a lapse of judgement, he kicked it away from him, and it squirmed angrily amongst the debris and broken glass on the floor as it attempted to crawl back to a now standing Dream. 

Its skull crumbled as he pressed his foot into it, allowing him to simply stamp on it twice before it died, a spray of blood coating his jeans. 

“George?” Dream called out, when he looked up and didn’t see the brunet. 

“I’m here,” came the reply from just round the corner, and Dream tip-toed around the corpse as he approached the source of the sound. 

George was sprawled on the floor next to a small puddle of sick, his breathing laboured as he sipped water from a bottle on the nearby shelf. 

“You alright?” Dream asked awkwardly, extending a hand that George gratefully took to help him up. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “just grossed out.” Dream nodded in response. He hadn’t let go of the other’s hand, and the two were both shaking a little. There was no denial surrounding their situation now, and Dream grimaced at the thought of not only having to kill more of those things, having to get used to it. 

As the two left the store, Dream took a moment to remove the knife from his bag, and instead slot it into his belt. He knew they would be better off of they could get their hands on something that could be used a slightly longer range- like a bat, or even a gun. 

The pair began to walk down the street, sticking to the pavement despite there not being any real point to it. There was trash everywhere, piles of garbage lining the road. There were shredded items of clothing strewn across the tarmac, and broken glass no matter where they stepped. 

“We should head further into the city.” Dream said, pointing in the direction he wanted to go. They had reached a crossroads, both literally and figuratively in what their options were. “There will be more food and supplies, and hopefully more survivors.”

George immediately shook his head. “More survivors means more Zombies. We’ve been lucky so far, I don’t even know how we haven’t come across more yet. I say we leave the city, head to Massachusetts.” 

Dream crossed his arms as they stopped walking. “Humour me George, just this once. If its a dead end, we’ll go to Massachusetts. Please.” 

George huffed, nodding slowly in defeat. Dream grinned, taking George by the hand as they continued walking, his other hand never leaving the handle of his knife. 

The sky slowly darkened as they walked, blue replaced by dusky pinks and purples, interspersed with gradually heightening sky scrapers. As night fell, George grew increasingly tired, eyes drooping as his feet dragged slightly. He was still fairly weak, even though he had built up a considerable amount of strength in the last week- having gone from being unable to get out of bed to walking miles without rest. 

“Dream, can we rest please?” he mumbled, tugging on the blond’s blue sleeve- Dream had shed the blood-covered hoodie in favour of a new one when they passed a clothing store earlier. 

Dream nodded. “Can you get a little further? Theres an apartment block up ahead that looks fairly secure.”

George sighed. “Yeah, thats fine. Lets go.” 

Dream flashed him a sympathetic smile as they continued walking, and he silently prayed that at least one of the apartments would be open and he wouldn’t have to break a door. 

In a cafe nearby, two boys sat against a counter, looking out onto the street. they were both equally dishevelled, from their bloody clothing, to their various injuries.

“Dude, I seriously think he’s still alive, his body wasn’t there when we went back,” the shorter said. He was fiddling with a gun absentmindedly, taking it apart before reassembling it again and again. 

“You dont get hit like that and just get back up Sap. He probably got dragged off by a biter.” The other responded, a voice of reason. 

Sapnap shook his head. “No way, Dream wouldn’t go down like that.”

“Not even with that head injury? Face it Sap, he’s probably dead and we gotta move on.” Bad muttered, feeling slightly sick at the thought of the strongest of the three of them being killed like that. 

Sapnap shook his head again, more vigorously than before. “Bad I can’t leave until we find him, even if it means putting a bullet between his eyes cause he turned.”

The brunet sighed a little. “Fine. It’s dark enough to go now, come on.” He muttered, already pulling on his bag and making sure the suppressor was secure on his glock. He didnt like carrying, nor using guns, but it was the best type of weapon for going out at night, and the suppressor made it that much better. They both had one, standard issue NYPD 9mm glock, that they had been lucky to come across after smashing the brains out of two undead detectives. 

Sapnap grinned, reassembling his own firearm from where it sat on the floor. He too preferred melee combat- an axe his best friend- but he was a better shot than Bad, and therefore was the one who carried spare ammunition in his bag.

There was a bell that rang as they left the small cafe, and the two kept close to the building as they waited with baited breath, praying the sound didnt attract any unwanted visitors. This section of the city was almost completely deserted due to mass infection rates, and then a malfunctioning car alarm drew all those in the vicinity towards the sound, making good pickings for the NYPD. It would be completely deserted if the NYPD hadn’t been overrun by the horde, leaving a fair few members of the undead to begin trickling back into the previously untouched streets.

Bad and Sapnap were lucky enough to only come across a few at a time, taking them out easily and moving away from the bodies quickly. They had observed that bodies made the animated ones more aggressive. 

They were only in the city because of Dream in the first place, he had reasoned with them that perhaps there would be supplies and survivors, and after a lot of begging convinced them that it was a good idea. All it got them was guns and a missing friend- he had been right about there being enough food however. 

Despite the fact that Bad was sure Dream was dead, when they saw an all too familiar mop of blond hair currently attempting to jimmy the lock of an apartment building, he didnt hesitate to shout ‘Dream!’ at the top of his lungs, uncaring about wether anything nearby heard, or if he deafened poor Sapnap. 

When Dream heard his name yelled, he looked up in a panic, afraid George had run off to do something and got into trouble, but when his eyes met the confused stare of said brunet, he looked out to the street instead, bewilderment clear on his features. George gripped his hand- the one that had previously been twisting various small objects in and out of the lock- and hid slightly behind him. 

The two boys charging towards them- Dream recognised them as the ones who ran past George’s apartment every night- looked relieved, excited even as they locked eyes with the blond. The one in front was clearly shocked, and the one lagging slightly behind was close to tears. 

But Dream didnt know who they were. 

He contemplated making a run for it, dragging George along as he bolted for a shop that they could hide in, but as the two drew closer, he realised they obviously meant no harm to him, and perhaps they could even be useful in reminding him of other things he couldn’t remember- such as who the hell they were.

The shorter- the one with the white bandage wrapped around his forehead- barrelled into Dream, knocking him (George stepped slightly out of the way) to the floor in a tight hug. The stranger seemed to be sobbing, and the other stood nearby, shedding a few tears as well. Dream patted the boy’s shoulder awkwardly, attempting to disentangle himself from him. 

The boy looked up, eyes shining with tears. George regarded the scene in silent confusion, and he avoided eye contact with the other brunet, who’s intense gaze bore into him for an uncomfortably long time.

Dream smiled sheepishly. “So.. who are you?” The two stranger’s expressions fell in identical disappointment and confusion, leaving a sour taste in George’s mouth as he observed interaction. 

“Dream? It’s us..” The shorter one said, standing up to face the blond, looking hurt. Dream smiled at him out of pity as he shook his head. 

“I hit my head.. I dont remember anything from the last few months,” Dream explained, pointing to the jagged stitches on his forehead. 

“Oh..” The boy said, stepping away slightly. 

“Thats okay, Dream,” the taller one said quietly. “We’re your friends. We’ve been looking for you for weeks- we thought you died.” 

Dream laughed a little at that. “I almost did, earlier today actually.” 

“I’m Bad, and this is Sapnap.” The brunet explained patiently, ignoring the way the Sapnap was staring at Dream and George.

“This is George, he helped me and I helped him. I trust him.” Dream explained, gesturing to George who had since retreaded slightly behind him again. George offered an half hearted smile, tightening his grip on Dream’s sleeve slightly. Bad pursed his lips. 

The atmosphere was tense, none of them knew what to say next. Dream nodded slowly. 

“Alright, obviously we have some catching up to do.” Dream clapped once, turning around to go back to trying to break the lock on the door. George stood beside the crouched boy, rather afraid of the two additions to their pair- especially since the two were looking at him with equally mistrustful glares. 

A click broke the silence and the door swung open, Dream standing up with a satisfied smile. 

Hardly an hour later, the four were sat in a small circle on the linoleum floor of an empty kitchen, sharing a tin of cold tuna and regarding each other with various expressions. Sapnap and Bad had explained to Dream how they had been roommates in college, and stuck together once the apocalypse descended. When Dream asked if it had always just been them, the two went silent and Bad shook his head.

Dream had explained how he had woken up confused and alone, and broken into George’s apartment to find him dying of a fever and malnutrition. The two had helped each other as best as they could, but Dream admitted he was glad to have new members of their group, and George agreed. 

When Dream dropped off to sleep, his hold never slackened on George’s hand- despite the brunet sitting up against a cupboard beside him, unable to sleep. His brown eyes traced the sleeping figures of Bad and Sapnap, and then back to Dream again. He wondered about the unspoken tension between the members of the group, wondered how it would evolve and if they could stick together despite their differences. Fear twisted his stomach as he realized that if they did split up, it would be the three of them leaving him alone. 

It was when Sapnap blinked his eyes open and sat up that George considered the fact that he should have tried harder to fall asleep. The two regarded each other apprehensively, unwilling to speak as Sapnap cracked open a tin of mixed fruit. George denied the offering with an awkward smile. 

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw.” Sapnap whispered, his southern accent making his tone more friendly- he might aswell have been asking George the weather. 

George nodded slowly. “I’m sure this is no surprise, but the feeling is reciprocated.” He admitted quietly. 

“But you trust Dream,” Sapnap replied, eyes narrowed in judgement. George nodded again, less hesitant this time. 

“I do.” He confirmed, breaking eye contact as he glanced at the sleeping blond. “I do.” He repeated, when the other didn’t say anything. Sapnap bit his lip. 

“Goodnight George.” He said, placing the lid back onto the canned fruit and turning over under his blankets. 

“Goodnight Sapnap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, I hope you liked it, this one was boring to write ngl 
> 
> I wanted to make the conversations between Dream, sap, bad and George longer but I couldn’t be bothered and dialogue is probably really shit for you guys to read right? 
> 
> Plsss comment, I love it smmm 
> 
> Drink!! Your!! Water!!


	6. M&S coconut pots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy it’s been so long
> 
> Um so basically, my other (admittedly more important) fic is on a slight hiatus at the moment. Why? Because I am sad as fuck :D 
> 
> Yeah so I’m like super duper sad at the moment, sad being depressed, depressed being sewer slidal- and considering this fic was born out of my own struggles with eating, and my struggles with eating are b!a!d! At the moment, I thought it was appropriate to update. 
> 
> ANYWAYS
> 
> I’m such a whore for M&S coconut pots, I might make a fan acc just for that shit, like idk if they sprinkle crack on it but it HITS DIFFERENT.
> 
> Okay so enjoy the chapter, there’s a fair amount to unpack here :P

Life before the apocalypse had been easy for George. 

Naturally, having an attractive boyfriend with a high income job was a large contributor, but there were other reasons. Such as freedom to do, say, eat what he wanted, whenever he wanted. He would spend his days curled up in a spot of sunlight on the sofa with a book or a magazine, and his nights he would spend with Wilbur. He was somewhat of a recluse by choice, and seemed to only leave the apartment when shopping or laundry needed doing, but he preferred it that way, finding people too bothersome to deal with. 

All things considered, George had been happy. Sure, there were plenty of things that could change to improve his quality of life, but overall he had it good. 

George had always used his eating disorder as a coping mechanism. 

It seemed to develop when he was young, when he was going through the most stressful period in his life so far- becoming a teenager. The conflicting emotions of “isn’t this a girls thing?” And “I hate myself!” Twisting his little developing brain into a hot mess of hormonal thoughts. 

At first he had bought into the fetishisation of diet culture- the constant encouraging words emblazoned on colourful women’s magazines proclaiming that he could have a “Sex-Goddess Body in six weeks” or the unquestioned normality of a girl bragging about how little she had eaten, praised even for her starvation. But as time went by, he realised that he no longer cared wether men found him desirable or wether delusional teenage girls on the internet idolised him, instead he found himself counting upon habits to keep him steady. 

He would count, he would exercise, he would sleep, and it was all for nothing but the irrational sense of satisfaction that came with self-control. 

Well into his adulthood, he found himself only grasping tighter onto the constance that came with hunger. His dating life had been lacklustre when he first became independent of his parents at around eighteen years old to say the least, and he eventually learned that, ‘No, a man who knows how to help someone with an eating disorder was in no way better than one that did not.’ 

And when he met Wilbur Soot, he realised that if he put it off as “picky eating” he could play it to his advantage. 

He met Wilbur in a busy train station in the middle of London, it could have been Kings Cross, but honestly George didn’t care enough to remember. 

Wilbur had looked dead on his feet, his eyes full of exhaustion and his general aura earning him momentary stares from people who walked past the despondent figure in the middle of platform six. George had been sat on a nearby bench, deliberating wether or not to actually eat the pot of coconut he had bought from M&S on a whim.

When George had noticed Wilbur- who after a short while of wondering around aimlessly had sat down next to the other on his little green bench- he offered the man his unopened coconut, wordlessly holding it out as the two maintained eye contact for a moment. Wilbur raised an eyebrow, a confused grin cracking on his face. 

“Coconut? What’s with that?” He said quietly, opening the pot, much to George’s hidden delight. The shorter shrugged with a small smile. 

“I don’t know. Thought you were homeless or something,” he mumbled, joking for the most part. 

“Might as well be.” Wilbur muttered, popping another chunk of coconut into his mouth. The two sat in slightly awkward silence for a moment, neither knowing exactly what to say. 

“Coconut pots were the only snack they had left,” George supplied with a vague pout, causing Wilbur to break out into uncontrolled laughter. 

And with that, conversation broke out. 

Wilbur told George exactly what had brought him to the station that day- George had laughed when he was told that it was just a “good feeling.” Wilbur explained how he was running out of money, the combined weight of years of medical school and an expensive London apartment taking its toll on the student, and how he had honestly been walking around for no reason. George voiced his sympathy for the other, describing his similar situation (minus the university, George had all but dropped out of school at seventeen). The two spoke until the sun was long gone, and they spoke as if they were old friends. 

When the intricate clock built into the wall struck eleven, George left the station with a new number in his phone, and Wilbur left with half a pot of m&s coconut and a warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t help but describe as blossoming love. 

The two continued to meet up, going on walks, or simply sitting and talking as neither could really afford to do much else. George would pass off his ‘strange’ eating tendencies as a strict diet, allergies, dislike, you name it. Wilbur bought it. 

When the two moved in together they swore it was just to make the rent a little less harsh, but if the noise complaint they received from their neighbours had anything to say about it, they would definitely backtrack on the previous statement. And when Wilbur finally received his “big opportunity”- being hired by a local hospital to work in neurosurgery- the two took a step in their relationship in becoming exclusive.

They relied only on each other, and even when Wilbur noticed George’s rapid weight fluctuations, even when George refused to say the L-word out loud, they worked together to make the best out of what they had. 

So as George found himself slipping back into old habits, he didnt have the strength to stop himself.

It was subtle things. Turning down breakfast with the excuse of feeling isck when he ate too early in the morning. Forgoing lunch under the guise of ‘having just eaten’. The endless setups whe would do when he thought everyone else was asleep.

Honestly, he really only did it to maintain a sense of normality- grasping onto every thread of regularity he could as the current state of the world tried to take it to him. It wasn’t even about losing weight anymore, simply just an awful coping mechanism he had developed as an excuse for holding onto control in his life- a voice deep in the back of his mind told him it was the only piece of Wilbur he had left, and George didn’t like that voice very much at all. 

The already thin boy began to look emaciated again in a matter of days, an the rising tension between the four boys of the thrown together group was doing nothing to help.

It was a fairly cold day, the sky overcast with the threat of rain, and it was quiet in the suburbs. The group had been travelling for just over a week, heading south in the hopes of finding fellow survivors.

George and Dream walked side-by-side, shoulders not quite touching. The only sounds were the occasional gust of wind, and George’s teeth chattering quietly, despite his mouth being closed. the two were separated from Sapnap and Bad (who were currently breaking into a house thy deemed suitable to stay in) as they surveyed the area for immediate danger, such as biters- which in George’s opinion, Dream was far too good at killing, but honestly, whatever kept them away. 

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, more companionable than anything. That was until Dream spoke. 

“You’re beginning to look like your old self.” He said quietly, voice low so as to not attract unwanted attention from unseen targets. 

George hummed quietly in response, choosing not to vocalise the fact that it was none of Dream’s business- it it was Wilbur, he would have done, and George wasnt sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

George actually felt guilty though, about what Dream said, and it hit him like a freight train. Not guilty enough to stop him from scratching 92 into the notebook he had found in an abandoned shop, using a mostly blunt graphite pencil to record the apple he had eaten half an hour ago- that, in hindsight, absoloutely did not matter, nor deserve his time and worry. 

As his health took a steep decline- much to Dream’s obvious dismay, and George’s ignorance- as did other things, such as his reaction times. 

So as Sapnap turned to him with an expression of absolute lividity, George found himself struggling to grasp exactly what he had done wrong, his mind a perpetual dark fuzz as he blanked more often throughout his days. 

“What the fuck? You were supposed to be watching my back!” Sapnap yells, shoving George slightly, heels of his palms connection with the shorter’s chest- Sapnap was not expecting him to stumble backwards, but it didnt cool off his anger at all. He expected George to get mad as well, to display the wicked temper he most certainly had, but after no reaction from the seemingly dazed individual, Sapnap felt another flood of cold anger flow through him. 

A zombie lay dead at their feet, having attacked Sapnap from his left, teeth snapping without so much as a warning. George was supposed to be watching Sapnap’s left, so when he found himself of the recieving end of an ‘affectionate’ bite- his anger was reasonable justified.

“I could have got bit man, what the hell is with you?” Sapnap snapped, letting the bat he had been holding clatter to the floor with a hollow sound. George simply looked at him blankly, seemingly in a different place completely in terms of thoughts. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blinking a little as he shook his pounding head. His vision was swimming as he came back to reality, a kick adrenaline forcing him out of the day-dreamlike stupor he had previously been operating under. With adrenaline comes fear, and George found himself cowering slightly where he would otherwise argue back. 

“No.” Sapnap snapped, wrapping his fingers around the other’s bony wrist in order to begin dragging him back to the house they would find Bad and Dream in. “Not good enough.” He muttered, yanking the other along behind him, ignorant of the way that he still seemed completely out of what was going on. 

When George’s reality came back into focus, he was lying on his side on top of the rough blue sheets that had been haphazardly thrown on the sofa from when they ransacked the bedrooms on the first night. The candle burning in front of him illuminated the silent living room, and George could see dust particles floating idly in the air.

He didn’t bother moving, and instead waited for his ears to stop quietly ringing and function again as he stared at all of the water stains on the ceiling and cracks on the walls. When his hearing faded in, he was aware of the sounds of hushed debating occurring close by- likely in a nearby room. He could distinguish three male voices- namely Dream, Bad and Sapnap- arguing in harsh whispers as if they were trying (and failing) to keep quiet. 

“We’re not just leaving him here Sapnap, he wouldn’t survive,” Bad murmured, and George frowned slightly at the implications of their discussion- especially as he was the only one not involved, making it a fair assumption that they were talking about him. 

“He’s not useful for anything! Hell, he almost got me killed today, he’s ditzy as shit,” Sapnap’s voice hissed, agression causing him to be slightly louder. 

“That’s not true Sapnap, he had a fair amount of medical knowledge,” George heard Dream counter, and while he was glad Dream was defending him, he felt slightly guilty at the notion he possessed any medical knowledge further than paracetamol takes the pain away. 

“So? Bad knows medical shit,” Sapnap argued, and George winced slightly. 

“I don’t care. You guys may know me but I still don’t really know you. Either you leave both of us or you leave no one at all,” Dream said firmly, slightly louder than anything else in the conversation had been said previously. “It’s not up to your one bad experience with him.” 

George drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously thought, those little coconut chunks are so fucking good istg, Idc how many calories they have, they are and will always be a safe food for me.
> 
> Comments are GREATLY appreciated!! I adore comments more than anything in the world!!! It doesn’t even have to be about the fic, you can shitpost if you want!!
> 
> Grrrr anyways,  
> I’m gonna go now bc I feel sick af *fingy guns* 
> 
> Have a good day and remember to drink ur water bbbb

**Author's Note:**

> Hi um... did you- did you like it??? 
> 
> Please comment, it really means a lot to me and motivates me to continue writing. If you want, check out my other fic? Idm, it would just be really cool to get some comments ngl
> 
> Tysm sm sm for reading, have a wonderful day :D


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